


Singing Like A Burning Man

by islasands



Series: Lambski [55]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Burning Man, Love, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:56:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam comes home from a recording session and talks to Sauli about why it had been such a success. These boys do more than just fuck. They talk. They listen. They understand one another. But of course, afterwards they do fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing Like A Burning Man

Home. Now three days off. Adam got out of the car and elected to use the garden stairs rather than the ground floor entrance. He dropped his bags on the deck, glanced inside the house, noted that it was in darkness, then walked along the flagstone pathway to a leg-in courtyard onto which the doors of their bedroom opened. Those doors were open, and through them he could see Sauli lying on their bed, sound asleep, naked head to toe, one arm thrown above his head and the other across his pelvis with it’s hand curved over his genitals. He was sleeping yet even in repose his body retained the vitality of his waking energy. It was poised, ready for instant action, like the arching of a wave that at any moment would break and fly upward and run forward.

Adam went to the doorway, the better to inspect the clean, sculptural lines of his face, the blue ink on his gold arms, the whiteness of his midriff and abdomen. He wanted to lay his cheek on that white flesh and listen to the engine of his being pulsating and gurgling. He wanted him to sit up, so that he could kneel between his legs and drink in the privacy of his private parts, his mouth drawing from their vulnerable strength, their secret reservoir of violence. Adam involuntarily flared his nostrils. He turned around and walked back out into the garden. The sun was going down. The sky, separated into bands by roadways of pink cloud, was of such variegated blues it looked like an amateur’s painting. Or the inside of an abalone shell.

“Hello, my you,” said a voice. Arms circled his waist. Adam put his hands over Sauli’s hands. He took a deep breath. He continued viewing the sunset, reliving as he did on a daily basis the happy surprise of being owned by a reciprocal love. Here he was, standing in a garden, watching the dawning of yet another night he would spend with the man he loved.

“I thought of you today when we laid down your favourite.”

“The ether one.”

“God, it was good.” Adam turned around and put his hands on Sauli’s shoulders.

“You’re shivering,” he said, concern interrupting his flow of thought.

“I like to shiver.”

Adam smiled at his boyishness. “Well it was amazing. God, I love it when everything synchs. Mood, voice, the people I’m working with.” He paused. “Come inside. No. Kiss me first.” They kissed. They went into the bedroom. Sauli jumped into bed and watched as Adam changed out of his clothes.

“Do you remember in Avatar, those trees that were like phosphorescent willows – or is it fluorescent? – the trees of souls? When they joined to them they could hear their ancestors.”

“Yes, and they married beneath the beautiful tree.”

“They cut the best part out of that.” Adam pulled down and kicked off his jeans. “In the extended version they did the hook up thing with their hair and had a breath-taking orgasm.”

“If I could have sex with _your_ hair it would be orgasming.”

Adam grinned at him. He ran his hands through his hair. “Well, sometimes, - not every time - sometimes when I’m singing the same kind of connection thing happens.”

Adam cast himself on the bed and lay on his back with head on his hands. “I can’t explain. It’s not just the song that I’m singing. It’s “singing”itself. The act of it.”

Sauli, sitting with his arms around his knees, was trying to catch the English turn of phrase. “Do you mean the feelings? The ones in the song?”

“No. Well, yes. But most of the time singing is a job. Like painting the house. Putting out the garbage. It really is. Even the emotions.” Adam reached up his hand and touched Sauli’s face.

“Today I was thinking of you while I was singing, and time suddenly became like a broken compass. It pointed in no direction, backwards or forwards. I sang because everything that could be said had been said. And everything that could be done had been done. And so singing was the only thing left. You know? Like a tree that has finished growing and is covered in leaves, and is ready for the wind to move it. Make it sway. Rustle. Bend.”

Sauli smiled at him, tenderly.

“I can paint houses. And when I do, I am connected to the brush, and my thoughts are thinking how long until I can go inside and have a beer.”

Adam laughed and pulled him down into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ve hardly seen you. I’ll make up for it at Burning Man.”

“I am happy. I like listening to your talk. I understand the tree. I think I do. But I can only listen to songs, sometimes with my head, sometimes my body, sometimes my heart. The songs are like fruits. All kinds of fruit to make your health. But some songs have inside of them a kernel? Is that correct?” Adam nodded. “And inside the kernel you feel there is the beginning and end of another song. Maybe of all songs.“

Adam had been steadily gazing at Sauli, watching him struggle to translate his thoughts into English.

“The next best thing to fucking you is being understood by you. That’s a new reality for me, right there.” Adam tugged at Sauli’s arm. Sauli obliged. He lay on top of him, pulling the sheets up to cover them. He felt Adam’s response, so immediate and thorough, pushing into his groin.

“Fucking is first?” he asked, between deep kisses.

“Everything is a first with you!” Adam hugged him tightly in the same way that you hug a secret or some wonderful news. “Today was brilliant. I sang like a burning man. I really did. And then I come home to you. And you say, “Hello, my you.” Adam lowered his eyelids. He had his hands on Sauli’s buttocks. “And now I’m going to fuck you with my hair.”

Adam abruptly pushed him off and went under the sheet, turning around so that he could kneel between his legs and begin slowly sweeping his hair between his legs and over his cock. Sauli held the sheet behind his head, creating a tent, so that he could watch.

“Oh, Jake, my Jake,” he said, reaching down to touch his hair.

_To be continued. Maybe._


End file.
